


older than I once was and younger than I'll be

by thatsparrow



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (or 'Post-Mini Arc' is probably more accurate), Gen, Post-Canon, The Adventure Zone: Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: The first thing that Duck sees when he pushes open the door of the Monongahela Ranger Station is the back of the office chair parked behind the main desk, and the top of a burgundy-knit toboggan with matching ear-flaps."Makin' yourself comfortable there, Pidge?"





	older than I once was and younger than I'll be

**Author's Note:**

> title from "the boxer" by simon & garfunkel

The first thing that Duck sees when he pushes open the door of the Monongahela Ranger Station is the back of the office chair parked behind the main desk, and the top of a burgundy-knit toboggan with matching ear-flaps.

"Makin' yourself comfortable there, Pidge?"

Pigeon starts, jerking upright from where she'd been slouched down against the faded grey nylon like a flock of starlings sent flying from the crack of a shotgun. She spins the chair around to face Duck, and as she does, he can see she's wearing this half-surprised, half-sheepish look, tugging absently at one of the flaps on her hat.

"Shit — sorry, Duck," she says, pulling herself out of the chair. "There was another ranger in earlier —  Steve, maybe? Sam? Anyway, he said it was okay if I sat here while I wait for you."

"Relax, Pidge," Duck says, hanging his coat on the rack by the door and settling into Pigeon's recently-vacated seat as she rests her hip against the edge of the desk. "I was only teasing."

"Don't want you thinkin' I was being presumptuous, or nothing."

"That's not what I was thinking."

It's been a couple days since he and Aubrey and Ned had gone after the abomination, and about a week since he first ran into Pigeon over at the Park & Camp, shotgun in her hand and goosebumps littered over her skin. But even if she's looking less skittish now—a stubborn set to her jaw and arms folded across an old Pink Floyd t-shirt that looks like something she'd either dug out of the back of her mom's closet, or found flipping through hangers at the Kepler Goodwill—Duck can see bruise-dark circles dug in under her eyes, and her nails chewed down to the quick.

"So, Pidge," Duck starts, "you said you were waiting for me. Something I can help you with?"  

She toes at the linoleum, leaving behind a slight scuff from the edge of her boot like a smudge of graphite across notebook paper. Arms flex a little as she folds them tighter over her chest. And Duck—feeling more out of his element than when he'd stumbled into Sylvane like Lucy Pevensie into Narnia—doesn't know where the _hell_ to begin with any of this. Glances over at Pigeon long enough to see the slight tremor in her fingers before he pulls himself out of the chair and heads over to the half-kitchen built into the corner of the Ranger Station (though, calling it a kitchen feels like a stretch when it's little more than four feet of Formica countertop and one outlet split between a hot plate and a coffee pot).

"Can I get you anything while you're here?" Duck asks, his tone casual as he turns to look at where Pigeon is still leaning against the desk, her eyes roving absently over the room. "Cup of coffee? Think we've got a box of Pop-Tarts laying around somewhere, but, uh, all bets are off if they're still any good."

"Coffee sounds alright," Pigeon says, voice a little quiet. "If you're offering."

"Sure am," Duck says, fishing a mug printed with a Garfield cartoon out from one of the cabinets above the countertops and filling it up. He walks back across the room and sets it down on the desk in front of Pigeon along with a handful of sugar packets, waving off her "thank you" as he pulls up another chair and nods for her to take a seat.

"And how's your mom doing?" He asks, settling back behind the desk and sifting through some of the papers left sitting there while Pigeon stirs a second packet of Splenda into her coffee.

"She's alright, mostly. Been working a lot of long shifts, lately, and I think she's more'n a little tired."

"And how about that buddy of yours — Pete, was it?"

"Yeah, Pete." Pigeon looks down, frowning. "Still pretty shook up from that night in the woods. Arms scratched all to hell from hiding out in a patch of brambles from that...fuck, from whatever that thing was." She glances back up at Duck. "Says he saw you, too. Or, saw a ranger come down the path with his hunting rifle, and I'm thinking it's a fair guess that was you."

"Pete wear glasses? Thick-enough he must have a prescription worse than someone in their mid-eighties?"

Pigeon smiles. "Yeah, that's him."

"Reckon I did see him then, but only for a moment after that bear of yours showed up."

"Pete mentioned that too — said you had somethin' of a scuffle with the thing that you weren't exactly on the winning end of."

"I'm going up against a goddamn bear, Pigeon, how the hell you think that fight's gonna turn out?"

"Pete says you _threw_ the gun?"

Duck clears his throat, and looks back down at the papers on the desk. "I may have."

"You _threw_ _it_? Tell me this, Duck — can you throw something faster'n a bullet?"

When Duck glances up, he sees she's got her eyebrows raised in this exasperated sort of way, looking like she's biting back a grin in the corners of her mouth.

"Well, as it happens, Pigeon — no. No, it turns out I can't."

She laughs a little, shaking her head at him in a way Duck's sure that he deserves.

"Alright, well I may have thrown _my_ gun away, but remind me, Pidge, who was it took aim at a ranger just going about his business?"

"Shit, Duck — said I was sorry about that, didn't I?"

"Mhm," Duck says, but there's a teasing edge in his voice. "Just after you put that round of buckshot into the RV door."

"You ain't ever gonna let that go, are you?"

"What, you taking a shot at me? Well it ain't like I'm calling up Vicky over it, but you're gonna have to forgive me if I feel like keeping that in my back pocket a little longer."

"Not like I even knew I had the gun leveled at _you_ ," Pigeon says, half under her breath. "Figured it was that big son-of-a-bitch from the woods come back for another go." And Duck doesn't think he imagines the way Pigeon's hands seem to tighten a little around the mug when she says that, or the slight tremor he can hear in her words.

"Is that what you came down here wanting to see me about?" Duck asks.

Pigeon looks at him and nods slowly. "Ain't like I seen it again, or nothing. Though—hell—I ain't set foot in those woods since that night, or even been back to the Park & Camp. After you set off, I put out the bonfire—just like you asked—and then I sat there in the RV with my gun for _hours_. Hands cramped up, I was clingin' to the barrel so tight — bad enough I ain't even sure I could've shot straight if that thing had come back around." Pigeon rubs at the back of her neck, and tugs the toboggan a little lower down around her ears. "Eventually Pete came stumblin' out of the dark, great big holes across the knees of his pants and sweater torn to shit like he'd gone sprinting through a briar patch. Eyes wider'n the nice china that momma saves for Thanksgiving, and stammering like he couldn't figure how to string two words together. Ain't _never_ seen Pete so rattled, and me jumping every time the wind sends a gust rustling through the pines outside." She pauses again and drops her eyes back down to the lukewarm coffee in her hands, holding fast to the mug like it's a life ring.

"Got him back in the RV and patched him up best as I could and then we just fuckin' _booked_ it — trying to handle that RV ain't exactly easy, but I'm pretty sure we peeled outta there so fast we burned half the rubber off our tires. Don't think I let the needle dip below fifty 'til we were out of the woods and could see the lights from Kepler.

"And you know, Duck, I told myself that I was okay. Pete and the RV both banged up a little, but the two of us still breathing, and that _thing_ miles away in the woods — and don't that mean I'm alright? That I ain't got nothin' to be afraid of? Kept telling myself that with my blankets pulled up over my head like I was fuckin' five years old, but couldn't make myself _believe_ it. Don't think I started dozing off until I could see the sunrise through the curtains, and even then didn't manage more'n an hour or two."

Pigeon's got a grey checked flannel knotted around her waist that she unties while she talks, pulling it on over her shoulders and tugging down the sleeves until they sit low enough around her hands that Duck can just see the tips of her fingers. Sinks into the fabric the way Duck imagines she must've done the night after seeing the abomination, hiding under the sheets like the outside world can't hurt her if she can't see it.

"Momma gave me grief for staying in bed late as I did, and then for letting the RV get banged to shit once she'd gone outside and seen the damage. Didn't have an answer for her when she asked what happened. I told her a bear came out of the woods near the Park & Camp, but she didn't believe me — I think she figures it was me and Pete being reckless or some shit, I don't know. And then that was...it, I guess? I called up Pete later in the day but he wasn't in a mood to talk and—tell you the truth—neither was I. Mostly I just wanted to pretend that whole night ain't ever even happened, and I'm betting Pete did too."

Her voice trails off, and Duck bets it's not because she's out of things to say, but that she hasn't figured out the right words she wants to use next.

"I did okay not thinking about it for the next few days — put it out of my mind like bad memories from an ex-girlfriend or too-small clothes shoved to the back of a closet, you know? Went about my business like usual, and even managed a couple nights of half-decent sleep. And then a couple days back, I was driving home a little later'n usual—late enough that the road outside town was just about empty—and that's when I saw the shape of something lit up in the headlights, and then I felt this _thump_ under my car, and I pulled off the road knowin' for a fucking _fact_ I'm gonna see something crushed between my tire and the road.

"But before I can get out of the car—before I even turned the car _off_ —I see the shape of something pulling itself out from the undercarriage and dragging itself across the road. Looked like a fox, or a raccoon, maybe? Couldn't fucking believe it was still alive though, but it was limping bad and I was about to get out to go help it and I—"

Pigeon breaks off, sudden. Bites the inside of her cheek, and Duck can see the sharp edge of fear in her eyes.

"Duck, I got a good look at this thing and it was... _wrong_. Wrong like that fucker from the woods was wrong. Fur ripped in places like it was rotten underneath, and limbs moving like one of those marionette puppet dolls — like it had extra joints where it shouldn't. And I could see something dark staining the fur 'round its mouth and figured it must be bleeding from a wound somewhere, but this shit was blacker than any blood I've ever seen, and oozing slow like it's made of molasses.

"And, Duck, I swear to you — this thing turned its head and stared _right fuckin' at me_. Looked at me sitting there in the driver's seat and pulled back its lips in this snarl 'til I could see all its teeth, and I figured it's another half-second before the thing starts throwing itself against my car door like fucking Cujo. But it didn't. Just sat there for a moment, staring at me with these unnatural-looking eyes, and then turned and finished crossing the road and disappeared into the trees off the shoulder of the highway."

When she finishes talking, Duck can see a slight shiver run through her shoulders under the plaid of her flannel, and he wouldn't be surprised if there were small ripples skidding across the surface of her unfinished coffee.

"I know you ain't a cop, Duck, and I'm not even really sure what I'm looking for. But I've just spent so damn much of this past week feeling afraid, and I'm _tired_ of it. And I guess...hell, I guess I thought maybe you'd know something about something that would take some of this weight off my shoulders? Maybe give me some kind of an answer so I can go back to sleeping easy." She glances up at him with those words, hope written all over the lines of her face. It feels like such a fragile thing, and Duck's so fucking worried he's going to break it.

"Pidge," he starts, slow, "I'll be honest with you — I don't have all the answers. I wish I did, wish like _hell_ that I could give you something more, but I've got just as many questions as you do, and no damn clue if any of them are ever gonna pan out to something satisfying. I'll tell you what I know, and I'll do what I can to help, but that's all I can offer."

"I appreciate that, Duck," she says, earnest. "Can you tell me what happened after you went off lookin' for Pete?"

"Sure thing, Pidge," Duck says, nodding. "I told you I found Pete about the same time I ran into that nasty-looking bastard, and I ain't embarrassed to admit that I panicked in the face of it. Managed to lose not just the gun, but my flashlight and radio to boot, and earned more than a few bruises you can bet I was still feeling in the morning. Did my best to keep its attention off Pete, though, and I'm glad to hear he got out okay. Saw a brief window to grab my radio and as soon as I had it in my hand, I took off running through the trees with that thing hard on my heels, and meanwhile my heart's pounding in my ears, loud as a goddamn bass drum. I radioed for help, but the signal in Kepler ain't ever come through clear, and I just about managed to hear someone send back a "roger" from the other end before the connection went dead.

"And after that?" Duck pauses, already hating the taste of the lie he knows he needs to tell. "After that, I'm not really sure. Kept running and eventually stopped hearing the sound of something behind me — don't know whether I gave it the slip or if it just got bored, and, frankly, I'm not overly concerned with which it was. Found somewhere quiet to hide and to catch my breath and then met up with the crew who'd come in for backup as soon as I could."

"They figure out what that thing was?"

Duck swallows, feeling like the worst kind of asshole at the look Pigeon's giving him and the bullshit he's offering her in return. "I don't rightly know, Pidge. We didn't come up with anything that night, but I heard on the radio a few days back that it was spotted near another campground in Kepler, and a few other rangers took care of it."

"Hell does that mean?"

"Think it's supposed to mean that it ain't gonna be a problem, anymore."

Pigeon frowns a little, thinking. Duck tries telling himself that it's not _really_ a lie — at least, not in any of the ways that matter. It's true that the abomination is gone, and maybe that's all Pigeon needs to know to stop looking over her shoulder.

It's as close to the truth as he can get, and he has to hope that'll be enough.

"Okay," she says, slow. "So it's gone? It's really gone?"

"Far as I know."

"And what about that fox-looking thing — you heard anything about that? Or, any other calls come in about folks running into something similar?"

"Can't say I have, Pidge, but I'll keep an ear out in case something else comes through."

"Yeah, okay," she says, making an effort at a smile that's only half-successful. "Thanks, Duck."

"Anytime, Pigeon."

She clears her throat, looking a little unsure of herself now. Sets the still half-full mug on the desk and starts to stand up when Duck says, "actually, Pidge, would you hang on a sec?"

Pigeon nods, lowering herself back down as Duck pries open the top-left drawer of the desk and starts digging through the disorganized stack of stretched-out rubber bands and loose Post-its until he finds a slightly-wrinkled business card for the Ranger Station, pulling it out and writing his name on the back.

"Here," he says, holding out the card towards Pigeon. "You see anything else funny, or you just need someone to chat to about all this, feel free to give me a call. Can't always guarantee I'll be on duty, but I promise you, Pidge, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"It's okay, Duck," Pigeon says. "You don't have to if you don't want."

"Ain't offering it to be polite, Pidge. I mean it — I'm here to help you, if you need it."

Pigeon's fingers close around the card, still a little hesitant, but Duck doesn't think he imagines the quick flash of relief he sees on her expression. "Thanks, Duck — for this, and for taking the time to listen to me. Means a lot."

"Happy to, Pidge. Truly."

She nods, and pulls herself to her feet for sure this time, tucking the business card into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Guess I'll be seeing you around?" Duck says, as Pigeon picks up a backpack off the floor and swings it over one shoulder.

"Yeah, sounds good," Pigeon says, offering him a smile that feels like the most genuine one so far. "Thanks again, Duck."

She turns, and she's just taken a handful of steps towards the door when Duck has another thought.

"Hey, Pidge? One more thing."

"Hm?"

"You know, something just occurred to me — don't know why I didn't remember it earlier," Duck says, feeling mostly confident for all that this might be a bad idea. "I think I did hear something about some odd-looking wildlife a few days back. Someone called into the Station with a report, but I was on my way out the door and only caught the tail end of it."

"Yeah?" Pigeon asks, eyebrows tilting up. "You remember what they said?"

"Some woman describing something not too far off from what you saw out on the highway — like a wild animal, but _wrong_ in a way she ain't seen before. Might be worth chatting with her? Compare stories, or something."

"You get her name?"

Duck nods, and offers Pigeon a small smile. "She goes by Mama — lives up the road at the Amnesty Lodge."

"Huh — the Amnesty Lodge?"

"That's the one."

"Thanks, Duck," Pigeon says. "I'll have to check it out." And with that, she gives him one last grin, raises her hand in a half-wave, and then she's out the door of the Ranger Station and skipping down the steps outside. And Duck doesn't know if he made the right call or just fucked up in some new way. Is pretty sure he'll be getting a call from Mama sometime in the next few days looking for him to explain himself, and is pretty sure of fuck-all else. He doesn't know whether he's playing around with fate, or destiny, or whatever — and honestly doesn't much care. Either way, he thinks that the risk is probably worth it, if only for the look of relief on Pigeon's face at finding some measure of hope.

And until the whole thing shakes out, Duck figures there's not much else he can do. So he pours himself his own cup of coffee, and takes a seat at his desk, and settles for reading a report on nonnative invasive plants in the meantime.

**Author's Note:**

> hey @griffin andrew mcelroy let pigeon join the pine guard
> 
> also, I'm not sure if it was actually confirmed or just implied, but I'm assuming the guy that Duck saw during his first showdown with the abomination is Pete (and 'Vicky' is Pigeon's mom, mentioned very briefly).


End file.
